


Nothing short of tragic (but you wouldn’t have it any other way)

by Jacobi



Category: Stucky - Fandom
Genre: 3 parts, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Brooklyn Boys, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Pining, Post War, Timelines, WWII, bucky falls, pet owner bucky, pre-War domesticity, the winter soldier rises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacobi/pseuds/Jacobi
Summary: It’s before the War was even a whisper on the tongues of powerful people and on a fire escape in Brooklyn, Bucky laughs at the skinny blond boy he’s loved since life began.“Pal, you’re tragic.”





	1. Middle Names

  "Once upon a time," Steve begins awkwardly, a giant among the half-circle of third graders in the library.

  The sign over the library door boasts "Story Time With Captain America! 4pm-6pm Saturday: Promoting Literacy and Life Long Learning at Your Local Library!"

  "I knew a boy named James."

  And this is a new one. Tony sits forward, tucking his phone under his thigh. He was expecting a sad-puppy Bucky story or something else equally rousing- perhaps an American Sentiment speach.

  "Except he had this really long and awful middle name. Most people have pretty awful middle names, especially when they're kids, because they didn't choose them. A middle name is something your parents give you and normally it's after some dead relative and you hope nobody ever finds it out."

  Tony laughs with the kids. Another surprise. Humor plays with Steve's lips. He could be smiling. If Tony didn't know any better.

  "But the thing about James was that everybody called him by his middle name and not his first name, and he sort of hated it. I didn't. I always thought his name was elegant, you know? Because how many people have names like James Buchanan Barnes? I was lousy old Steven Grant Rogers. Kind of pathetic, in my opinion, as far as names go."

  So it is a Bucky story. But not a sad Bucky story. This is a new Bucky story. Tony listens harder.

  "Anyway, everybody called him Bucky. He was as Black Irish as they come. You know what that means?" Steve looks at the blank faces.

  "It means he was real handsome, but he was wild. You never knew what he'd say or do next. I mean, I did, but nobody else did, it seemed. I think it was because people had the wrong idea about him entirely. They thought he was big and strong and cut classes all the time because he could. They thought he was mean, and danger lurked under his charm. But that just wasn't it. He was so sweet. He was the sweetest kid I ever knew. Bucky'd make a whole day out of bringing flowers to the old folks' home just because. He'd pretend to be dumb so I wouldn't feel bad when we did homework together. The only time he fought was when I started something I couldn't finish."  Steve recalls.

  "He sounds pretty nice to me." A girl two rows back to the left states.

  "Yeah, he really, really was. I guess it just goes to show that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover." And Steve honest-to-god winks at the kids before the librarian takes over and launches into a spiel about "reading out of your comfort zone."

  Tony chokes. He thinks that maybe he's having a stroke. Captain America really winked at a group of third graders. Steve Rogers really included the Bucky Barnes in a dad joke and didn't develop the thousand-yard stare that usually followed the maudlin Bucky monologues. Incredible. Perhaps old dogs really can learn new tricks.

  "So Barnes was sweet?" Tony breaks the silence in the limo back to the Avengers Compound. Steve gives him a side look from under his eyelashes.

  "Oh, sure," Steve laughs a little. "Sweet on me."

  Tony chokes again. And then he feels sad. Very, very, very sad and- oh, no. Steve didn't just loose his best buddy. This was the love of his life. Double oh no. Triple oh no. His child hood sweet heart. Very, very, extra oh-no.

  This is more empathy than Tony has ever felt for another person, he thinks, in his whole entire life.

  "But. He wasn't all good, Tony." Steve says haltingly, as if he can sense Tony's internal dilemma and wants to help down play it.

  "He... he was a walking contradiction. Bucky was sweet, sure, but holy hell could he be harsh. He was real shanty Irish- we both were. But I mean, he saw the world as it was and he'd call it so, too. Artists and realists don't always work out." Steve explains.

  "But you did." Tony doesn't even have to phrase this as a question. It's a given.

  "But we did." Steve agrees. "Except he was so complicatingly simple and I wasn't. Bucky was just plain gay in the 1930's and he was just plain a man's man and he just plain didn't pull punches and he just plain liked to dance and he just plain worked at the docks and chain smoked late at night on the fire escape. Not me. No, not me."

  "You should be a writer." Tony interjects, struggling to keep up with the extended metaphor. It's all very exciting.

  "I was an artist, and I liked boys and girls, and I didn't like to dance, but I didn't mind the dance hall, and I could die any day, and I didn't 'cause I didn't feel like it, and I fought 'cause I felt like it. And I loved Bucky when I felt like it and I'd go to bed when I didn't. I did things just to do them. Bucky was just plain sweet on me. Kept thinking that maybe he'd stop.

"But then he... fell off that train...and I didn't catch him, and I guess he didn't live long enough to stop being sweet on me. So I crashed the plane for my country, sure. But I also put it into a spiraling nose-dive because I felt like it. Just because life without Bucky didn't make me feel anything anymore." Steve says this to the tinted glass of the window by Tony's head.

  It's tragic. It really is. Steve is tragic.

  "You're tragic." Tony says without thinking because he says things just to say them too. He and Steve, they're sort of brothers by being arbitrary, petulant fools.

  By the twist of Steve's mouth, Tony knows that it's just the sort of thing Bucky might have said.

  Maybe late at night. On a fire escape. With his fifth cigarette hanging lazily out of the corner of his mouth.

  Tragic.


	2. Snap

  Bucky stood on the fire escape, his suspenders loose around his hips and his work shirt open over his undershirt that may have been white at one point but now looked more grayish from the old laundry water it had been subject to over the years.

  Steve could almost see himself loving a fella like Bucky, just then with the way the cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.

  "Think I'll ever find a fella?" Steve broke the silence, clambering trough the window to look out over the glittering slums. He liked to see if he could get a rise out of Bucky sometimes. It was awful mean. But it would have been meaner if Bucky didn't do the same exact thing to Steve.

  "Pal, you're tragic." Bucky chuckled into the damp night air. Somewhere far-off, a cat yowled and a woman screamed.

  The fine hairs on the back of Bucky's neck bristled at the sound. Steve watched the slow tense of every muscle in Bucky's shoulders and the deliberate tightening of each finger's grip on the fire escape's railing as a second scream rang out. Bucky stared hard into the darkness, like maybe he could do something about it.

  He couldn't. He never could.

  The secret was, Bucky got so knocked sideways by violence against gals that he couldn't think, went blind with unspoken frustration. Steve didn't freeze. That's why Steve always swung first. Always.

  So Steve could maybe see himself being sweet on a guy like Bucky who cared so much about individual people that it was sure to lead to heart break. And how could Bucky call Steve tragic, after all that?

  "I love you just as sure as I'm shanty Irish, Steve. But you take your time if that's what you're bent on doing." Bucky was saying, his words light. But his eyes still strained to see where the woman was among the tumbled down shadows cast by crumbling buildings. 

  In the morning, Steve would hear about a young woman who's body was found mutilated in a back ally. Her name was something sweet, they said, only not as sweet as her face.

  And Steve wouldn't tell Bucky about her, just like he never told Bucky about the girl before that, and he wouldn't tell Bucky about any girl after that. Men liked to take. They liked to take with their great, grimy hands and they didn't care if it was ruined so long as it was theirs.

  But not Bucky. Bucky didn't take. He mostly just gave and quietly received.

  Steve took.

  But not Bucky.

  And so Steve didn't tell Bucky about the sweet girl, because something in him just couldn't bare to see the sag of Bucky's shoulders. There was something so unsettling about seeing a strong young man's shoulders turn inward.

  But Bucky knew, anyway.

  He always knew about the girls, he knew even after that, too. About the girls who were alive, the girls like Peggy Carter.

  The worst thing about the war, Steve believed, was that it made Bucky into a taker. He took lives. It nearly god damn killed him to do it. He told Steve one night under stars that didn't belong above a fire escape in Brooklyn, stars that didn't look like home, that he hated it.

  "I _hate_ it, Steve. You don't understand, that's okay- I don't want you too, but holy _hell_ I hate it. I can't ever tell anybody but you, or else I'd be useless to this god damn army. I'm telling you, if I have to take one hundred more lives I will _shoot_ myself through the _foot_. I'm _done_." Bucky promised reverently to an audience of foreign cicadas and the drone of far-off bombers.

  Funnily enough, Bucky did not, in fact, shoot off his foot after he killed one hundred more people. He didn't do it after the kill count topped three hundred, and he drank with the men long into the night on the thousandth body to drop under his sights.

  Bucky threw up violently afterwards. Steve had watched with mild horror as his best friend's body tried to wring out all the death stenciled into his soul one bullet at a time.

  "Are you sick?" Steve had asked. But even then, his words fell flat. Bucky didn't get sick anymore. Not after the lab. He didn't get drunk and he didn't get tired and he... he didn't get any kinder. He just was.

  At some point, whatever soft bone that had allowed for the only compassionate sniper the US Army had ever seen finally snapped. It was a clean break and it healed back strong. Bucky became Barnes. Became hard. Became ruthless.

  But when he was dangling from the bent metal rail over the chasm, Bucky's eyes said "Pal, you're tragic."

  They said, "This is tragic as _hell_."

  The reason that Bucky let go wasn't because the rail snapped, like people assumed and Steve, so blind with grief, had let them assume. Something else had snapped first. It was a tendon in Bucky's arm. Steve watched it all happen, the twist of the train on the tracks and Bucky's body being thrown against the hard metal siding of the car.

  His elbow bent in backwards and something snapped. Bucky locked eyes with Steve, then, in that split second before the fall. Steve remembers this because Bucky had that look on his face like maybe he was going to throw up, and Steve suddenly remembered that time on the Cyclone when Bucky had screamed his admittance that he was terrified of heights at the top.

  And then

      Bucky

              Fell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooohhhhhhh this one hurt just a bit... poor Bucky


	3. All the way back

  The Winter Soldier was never completely under control. That's what they said, the people who kept him. But he wasn't.

  Bucky Barnes, the museum says, was some sort of golden boy who excelled on the battle field and was the best friend of the American before the Winter Soldier took his face.

  It is funny, that Steven Rogers should be the American this time. Before being Soldat, it was the Winter Soldier who was the American.

  The biography in the museum's gift shop says that Bucky Barnes was a little more than a straight laced best friend though. To start, his name was James Buchanan Barnes in full.

  And the Winter Soldier cringes at the mouthful of the middle name. How awful.

  The biography says that even as a child, Bucky was never under control.

  _Described by one of Rebecca Barnes's suitors, her brother Bucky Barnes was "a crazy son of a bitch who'd walk you away from his sisters like you were old friends and then beat you half to death. Or he wouldn't. That was his greatest trick. He'd leave you alone and you'd spend the rest of your f—king life looking four times before you crossed the street."  
  As his closest confide, Steven Rogers, deigned to comment, "Aw, Buck? He was sweet. He really was. Before the war, he was sweet."_

  "You punk, what a thing to say about a guy. I wasn't any more sweet than Rosa's fake apple pie." The Winter Soldier thinks. He doesn't know where he gets the words, but he knows the memory of chewing on limp pieces of overcooked apple encased in half-cooked, lumpy dough with sudden absoluteness.

The Winter Soldier takes the book, but he leaves money under the snow globe by the exit before he slips out.

  Across town, Steve wonders if this is what it's all boiled down to: Bucky lived after all. And because he lived, he learned how to stop loving Steve.

—

  The Winter Soldier ends up at an animal shelter by the old glass-blowing district. He isn't sure how he knows this but. He does.

  He sees two men holding hands in an ally. So, not everything has changed.

  Changed? Has he ever been here?

  Maybe, maybe. Maybe a long time ago. Maybe before the people who oversaw his creation thought that they had him under control.

  But anyway, there is a shelter housed in a low brick building and the woman at the front desk has eleven piercings.

  "Dog or Cat?" She asks. The Winter Soldier makes that twelve piercings. There's one on her tongue.

  "Dog." He says impulsively because that's what she suggested first and somebody once told him he'd be a dog person. He thinks.

  _"Put down that kitten, Buck,  can't you see it's half-dead already?"_

  But the rain, the rain- and hadn't the rain been cold?

_"It'll die, Steve,"_

_"Ah, Bucky, you'd do better with a dog, anyway. C'mon pal, we'll leave it by the butchers. Maybe it'll catch some rats."_

  The Winter Soldier steals a glance at the cats as they pass the door blocking off the feline section.

  "But maybe a cat-like dog." And he relishes this revision, in the way that he can say maybe. That it doesn't have to be no sir no sir no sir no sir no sir- even when he wanted to say yes.

  Yes, he missed the shot on purpose.

  Yes, yes, he let the little black widow go.

  Yes, yes, yes, he remembered every one that he killed even before... before whatever it was that happened

  Because he was never under complete control. They did it bad, he thinks. They didn’t really know what they were doing and it was a miracle that he survived and they screwed it up somehow- the training that is. Messed it up because they weren’t expecting to ever get that far. Messed it up even more because they weren’t expecting to get such a handful for their little science fair project.

  The dogs are louder than his thoughts.

  There's a mutt that the woman is pointing to. It looks like a pit bull mix. The Winter Soldier likes the strength in its jaws. Maybe this dog will be stronger than he is.

  He was an asset, but he wasn't ever strong. Not on the inside. He was soft as hell. That's why everything always hurt so bad.

  The pit bull walks out with the Winter Soldier. He almost balked at the paper work, but the woman filled it out for him. He gave her a fake name. What's in a name, anyway?

  The Winter Soldier is pretty sure that Bucky Barnes was his Before. He arrives to this conclusion after two months with the Dog. The Dog is great. The Dog is better than great. She eats whatever he gives her and watches his back always.

  So maybe Bucky Barnes was his Before. But there are a lot of maybe’s in the Winter Soldier’s life now.

  Maybe he fell off of something high. Maybe he kissed a boy in a back ally down by the glass blowing district way back in ‘39. Maybe he shot a president.

  It’s not that he’s lost his memories. Like his previous assumptions, they took him apart all wrong. Instead of taking away the memories, they took away the context, scrambled up the order. So that’s why the Winter Soldier was never really under control.

  He still had the memories, he was still his Before, only different. Each time the memories got put in increasingly mixed up sequences until he was so turned around that all he could do was remember how to hit a kill shot in a hurricane.

  But the biography, the biography has dates. It has a time line.

  The new Bucky Barnes makes a time line.

  He doesn’t really feel new like store bought new. It’s the new of raw skin grafting over a gash. It will leave a scar and the old skin is still there. But it’s still an addition, it’s still new. Like the scars that lattice over the seam where metal meets flesh. He can’t find those memories and connect the specific feeling of pain with them, and he hopes they swirl around, forever mixed up and never associated with each other in his screwed up head.

  Bucky takes the Dog with him to California. He thinks that he always wanted to see the west coast, anyway.

  Steve Rogers arrives on a tip call too late. He knows that Bucky was there. Was there for several months by the looks of it, but he’s gone to the wind now.

 _Good_ , Steve thinks. _Good, maybe he’s finally realized that there’s nothing for him here._

  It’s sad and it hurts and it’s tragic.

  But the new Bucky is making a time line and the Dog is panting happily under the shade of the umbrella and things are starting to fall into place in California.

  He pencils in a date, pencils in the memory of an orange on Christmas, the sensation of starlight glancing off of the roofs of the slums and swallowing him whole-

  And then he sits up rigidly, flips back all the way to the very first time line, past his birth, past what little information he has on his parents, all the way back, back, back,

  Because how could he forget?

  Before his Before, before James was Bucky, before life itself, there was only one thing.

  Carefully, with the importance of John Hancock signing the constitution (he remembers memorizing the preamble ninth grade, it’s on the fourth time line) he prints:

  _Loving Steve._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I definitely lied there’s going to probably be one more chapter, I couldn’t tie it up neatly in this one... apologies for the awkward movement in places it’s all a work in progress lol


	4. The finality if new  beginnings

  When they jacked Bucky up on the b-list super-serum, when they tried to get rid of his memory, Bucky remembers a single, isolated moment in time that contains relative context.

    He remembers that they showed him a newspaper, and the headline said "Captain America Dead in Heroic Crash" And there was an artist's rendering of the Valkyrie spiraling down into the arctic. They thought it would break Bucky, this knowledge.

  Instead, Bucky spit the blood left over from biting through his tongue at their shoes. "Good," He remembers saying, "I got nothing in hell left to loose now." Which was not what they were expecting. Really, they were woefully unprepared for James Buchanan Barnes, but James Buchanan Barnes was biologically prepared for the b-list serum in a sad turn of events, and so that's how it all worked out.

  Steve keeps trying to painfully push his way through an apology for taking Bucky for granted when they were kids.

  Finally, Bucky calls enough. "If I wanted an apology, I would have asked for it." He shakes his head at the paper. Yankees lost recently. Too bad.

  And when Steve gets caught on the scars draping Bucky's frame, he says, "It's only a body Steve."

  From the memories that he can link loosely together, Bucky does not recall Steve being self conscious. Which must be why the sad-puppy looks bother him so much.

  Sure, Steve brooded plenty, but he never hesitated to take what he thought he deserved. Now, Steve doesn't take anything. Nothing at all.

  When the man named Tony who looks alarmingly like somebody Bucky Before maybe once knew and sickeningly like somebody the Winter Soldier choked the life out of a long time ago asks Steve what he wants for breakfast, the man won't choose.

  He'll insist that "anything is fine" and then look to Bucky for approval.

  Bucky feels like grabbing him by his shoulders and telling him _"pal, don't you look at me, I haven't made a decision on my own for who knows how long and I sure as god damn hell don't know how to make a good one now!"_

  "So when did you stop?" Bucky asks Steve point blank one morning while The Dog is curled next to him on the couch.

  "Drawing?" Steve asks, which is not the clarification Bucky was expecting to hear and somehow it hurts him so much more. It makes him a little mad too, because he supposes that nobody ever thought there would be room for starving artists Steve inside of Captain America's colossal body.

  "No. Choosing things for yourself." Bucky says instead.

  Steve shrugs apathetically. "Well, I thought crashing the plane would be my last decision. After they unfroze me, I didn't have to think about anything, they just gave me the shield and told me that Manhattan was under attack by aliens and that I had to fight. So I did. So I do."

  Bucky remembers something then, an old sentence that he read in a book somewhere, or scrawled on a wall perhaps-

 

  _free is the slave who knows not what slavery means // but he is still a slave, he is still a slave_

 

  Bucky understands very much so what being held against your will feels like. What being forced to carry out somebody else's agenda feels like. Because he was never completely under their control, so he remembers the struggle, he does, he does

  But Steve.

  Bucky doesn't think Steve remembers enough what freedom feels like because it was taken away from him gradually, so subtly like the frogs in the water that boil without knowing because the water is heated up over a long period of time.

  "Steve, c'mon pal. If you're not gonna fight for a reason then who the hell are ya, anyway?" Bucky tips his head back so he can see what Steve's face looks like when he's thinking. That much hasn't changed. His brow still furrows in the same place that Bucky Before remembers.

  Steve throws his hands up and makes a disconcerted sound at the back of his throat. "What do you want me to say, Buck? I'm tired. I'm tired of taking. Sometimes it's just easier to be easy. To go along with it."

  "Well, fuck. In that case, maybe I shoulda just stayed down the first time they kicked me unconscious. Woulda been easier, huh?" Bucky feels his mouth twisting into something bitter and he turns his face toward The Dog. If nothing else, he doesn't want Steve to see his expression.

  "Bucky, that's not what I meant- I just, I can't just say- I'm _Captain America_ for god sakes!"

  "No, you're _not_! That's where they got it all wrong, that's where they always _get it wrong_ , don't you see? They think they can make you into this _persona_ all the time but it's only a name, it's only a reputation, you are _not_ Captain America. You are Steve Rogers. When you pick up that shield, you are still _Steve Rogers_ , you will always be Steve Rogers. Or I guess now you aren't, because it's easier just to be what they feed you, right?"

  The Dog opens one eye, sensing the rising tension. Bucky keeps his gaze fixed stubbornly on The Dog's right ear where she has a divot taken out of it from an old fight before Bucky met her.

  "Buck, I'm lost, I really am. Who is 'they' anyway? You're acting crazy, pal, how am I _not_ Captain America? You _know_ me!"

 " _God_ , Steve, _listen_ to me, wontcha?! You think I don't know how it is? How goddamn _easy_ it is to play into their stereotypes? The people in control? Guess what, pal, they're only in control because you _believe_ that they are! I know, _I know_ , it's easy as _anything_ to forget who you are but you can't! I wanted to, _oh my god_ , I _wanted_ to. You had crashed the plane and I had nothing left to loose but myself and I wanted to _Give. Up_. But that's not who I am, that's not who we are Steve! Don't you remember?"

  " _Fuck,_ Bucky, you're stronger than me! You want more outta life! Me? I finally got over myself and started loving you for real- and I'm _okay_ with following orders, I'm really okay with it-"

  Bucky stands and turns to face Steve so suddenly that The Dog sits up and jumps off of the couch.

  “This isn't about following the goddamn orders, Steve! This is about you losing who you are- you're trying to be somebody you're not!"

  "How the _hell_ would you even _know_? All this talk about staying true to yourself, _Bull shit_. Bull shit! You reinvented yourself all the time and I'm not allowed to? I'm not allowed to change?"

  "I didn't ask to be shot through with the bastardized serum, you crazy fuck! Are you even _listening_ to yourself?!"

  " _No!_ Not the goddamn serum, _before_ that! You never took, you _never_ did before the war and it irritated the _hell_ outta me. Always, always. _All you did was give_. But then you went to war and you started taking, remade yourself into somebody who didn't freeze when a gal cried, made yourself tough-"

  Steve is crowding Bucky now, and they've backed into the kitchen. The Dog watches warily from the living room. Bucky slams his fist down hard on the island. Something cracks.

  " _It's not the same thing! I had to!_ "

"Well, maybe _I_ had to stop taking! I'm _tired_ of being a bad per-"

  " _Shut the hell up!_ " Bucky yells over Steve. "You are _not_ a bad person! People are _flawed_ Steve, they just _are!_  That's just how the world works! _Holy shit,_ I love you so much I can't even _believe it_ , but I hate it when you won't even choose a favorite color anymore because you don't want to make any waves- _make waves, goddamnit!_ At least it proves you're here, that you're living!"

  Bucky grabs Steve's shirt collar and takes a deep breath. Steve stares stonily ahead. "Baby, I..." Bucky trails off softly. Steve flicks his eyes down to the side, stubbornly avoiding Bucky's face.

  Bucky takes another breath to steady his thoughts.

  "My favorite color is sea-glass blue." Steve mumbles. A flicker of memory dances at the corner of Bucky's mind. They're younger and knobby-kneed, bouncing on the back of a milk truck. But they don't mind it, they're hitching a ride and they can taste the salt from the ocean in the air.

  "It used to be green until we were hitching a ride to Coney Island on a milk truck. I thought I'd stump you with the favorite color question. But then you said sea-glass blue and I knew that I'd been wrong all along, because green was never my favorite color once you said sea-glass blue. You could have said yellow and that would have been right. And your eyes are sea-glass blue some days when the light shines on them just right." Steve still won't look at Bucky.

  Bucky laughs once, lowly, just short of a scoff. "I have spent my whole life at the whims of other people. Doesn't make me a good person, doesn't make me a bad person. It just is what it is, Steve. What matters is that you stay you. _I'll never stop loving you_ , it's written in my DNA, you hear me? But listen closely, I can't stay with somebody who won't make their own decisions when I'm fighting to get used to making mine, because it's _too easy_ to go back to being the Winter Soldier, and I can't do that anymore, I _won't_. It's the god's honest truth, and I'm sorry, but that's how it's gotta be."

  Steve looks Bucky dead in the eye. Sea-glass blue. "Well," He drawls. "I'd hate to break up the set."

  And it takes a while, it really does. Some days are good and some days are bad, but most days Steve chooses breakfast and Bucky remembers his kindness.

  And one day, maybe, Steve will finally ask for what he really wants more than anything and he'll take another thing from Bucky: his last name.

  But for now, they're twenty something year-olds who've seen upwards of one hundred years of struggle and sweetness and they've got their whole lives ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, school had me on 400% these past two weeks!

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of follows the end-beginning-middle time line so the next one chapter is all the way back to our boys in Brooklyn 
> 
> Hope everyone is enjoying it so far, Tony turned out to be pretty fun to write


End file.
